stranger-get thee gone, I will not cherish thee. By this time thou wilt be so entangled among the different branches, that thou canst not get back to the oak; and nobody will then admire thee, or pity thee."

"Ah me!" said the vine, "let me escape from such a destiny," and with this, she twined herself around the oak, and they both grew and flourished together."

The Ball Room.

IN one of the interior counties of Pennsylvania, a young man, whom, for the sake of distinction, we shall call B. was convicted of sin, and led to inquire anxiously the way to be saved. He was the son of one of the most respectable and wealthy inhabitants of that region of country, but his father was, unhappily, a bitter opposer of the religion of Christ. Perceiving the state of his son's mind, he determined to leave no means untried to divert his attention from the subject. He hurried him from business to pleasure and from pleasure to business, with strong hopes that his serious impressions might be driven away; or, at least, that he might be prevented from making any public profession of the change of his views. But all these efforts were vain. The Spirit of God had excited the anxieties of his soul, and did not desert him. He was brought to the dust in submission, and found peace in believing in Christ.

About this time a splendid ball was got up, with every possible attempt at display, and the youth of the village and surrounding country were all excitement for the festive hall. B. was invited. He at once declined attending; but his father insisted that he should go. Here was a struggle for the young convert. On the one hand were the convictions of his own conscience, as well as the desires of his heart. On the other, the command of a father whom he was still bound to obey. The struggle was long and anxious. At length it was decided; he determined to go. His father rejoiced in his decision. His friends congratulated him on having abandoned his new notions, and become a man again.

The evening at last arrived. The gay party were gath

ered in the spacious hall. There was beauty, and wealth, and fashion. The world was there. Every heart seem ed full of gladness, every voice was one of joy. B. appeared among the rest, with a brow that spoke the purpose of a determined soul. He was the first on the floor to lead off the dance. A cotillion was formed, and as the circle stood in the centre of the room, with every eye fixed on them, what was the astonishment of the company when B. raised his hands and said, "LET US PRAY.?

The assembly was awe-struck. Not a word was uttered. It was silent as the grave, while B. poured out his heart to God in behalf of his young companions, his parents, and the place in which they lived. With perfect composure he concluded his prayer. All had left the room-all but one. A young lady whom he had led upon the floor as his partner, stood near him, bathed in tears. They left the room together, and not long af terwards, she was led to the foot of the cross, having been first awakened by her partner's prayer, on the ball room floor. They were soon married, and are still living, active, devoted members of the body of Christ. B. is an elder in one of the churches, near the city of New York.

This fact conveys some important hints. Here was a doubtful case of action. B. was commanded by his father to go to a ball. He thought it was no place for him. There was nothing in the gay and frivolous amusement of the evening, congenial to his feelings. Still he must go, or disobey his father. Here was the struggle. In resolving to obey his father, he also determined to keep a conscience void of offence toward God. Having formed the resolution, he had strength for its execution. It must have required more than ordinary moral courage, to carry such a resolution into effect. But B. was determined, and found grace to sustain him in the first effort, perhaps, ever made to convert a ball room into a place of prayer. The effect was remarkable, though natural. The company retired. They came to dance, not to pray. When the voice of prayer broke on their ears, it was terrifying to their consciences. They fled from its power. B. triumphed over himself. He obeyed his father; did his duty to his young companions; was the blessed instrument of awakening the lady, who was afterwards his wife,

and without doubt has occasion to this day for devout thankfulness to God, that he was thus enabled to be faithful in the discharge of the singular duty he had undertaken.

Should any of my young readers be similarly situated, perhaps the course of B. may assist them in forming an opinion, as to the stand they should take. And if any read this, who are fond of the mirth and folly and music of the ball room, let me ask you, my friend, one or two questions. Should you frequent a place where prayer would be out of place? If the thoughts, and the words, and the scenes of a ball room, are not congenial to the spirit of prayer, is not the reason that in such pursuits there is something which conscience condemns? In the gaities of those hours of folly which you have spent, has your mind ever been led to dwell on the solemn realities of the eternal world? Have you thought at such times that you are a dying creature, and soon would stand at the bar of a God, whom you have slighted; at the judg ment seat of a Savior, whom you have rejected and despised? I know that such thoughts are strangers to such scenes. The heart that leaps with gladness at the sound of the viol, seldom feels the solemnity of a truth like this. But you are as liable to die in the ball room as at home! And oh! what a change for you. From the midst of the festive mirth of Pleasure's hall, to be summoned away to the judgment! No time granted you to prepare for that assembly. Without a wedding garment you are found, and must be speechless when the Judge calls you to trial. What bitter regrets will then fill your heart, that here you were so madly bent on the follies of this world, that you would not think of a world to come! How awful to dance on the brink of the grave! You would not trifle, if you saw the pit opening wide to engulph you. But you are dancing on the brink of the grave! You are trifling with the interests of your immortal soul, when the bottomless pit is yawning to swallow you in its fiery

waves.

"Leave all your sports and glittering toys.
Come, share with us eternal joys."

Worldly Greatness.

How little real satisfaction is derivable from worldly greatness, is shown in an anecdote which lady Colquhoun mentions in her work on "The World's Religion," and which was communicated to her by her father, Sir John Sinclair. He was invited by a late eminent statesman, Lord Melville, then high in office, to spend New Year's day with him at Wimbledon Common. He arrived there the day before, and in the morning repaired to the chamber of his host, to wish him a happy new year. "It had need be happier than the last," replied Lord M., "for I cannot recollect a single happy day in it." And this was the man who was the envy of many, being considered at the height of worldly prosperity!

The Code of Honor.

BUT let us meet the professed duellist on his own chosen ground. He is governed by the law of honor, and common murderers and suicides are not. Here lies the mighty difference! Yes, honor is his decalogue, is the grand arbiter of his destiny, in obedience to whose mandates he kills his enemy, or his friend, or lays down his own life, in single combat. What, then, is this so much. vaunted and idolized code of honor? Let it be produced and held up before the eyes of the whole nation, that every child may read and admire it.. Yes, there it is-it can be no other code, for it is all written out in blood. Every hand that touches it is stained with blood. Every section, as the parchment is unrolled, demands more blood. And yet it must be paramount to all other codes, for it has the finest title in the world. It is the law of honor, and what could human language express more, or express better?

But do you see Moloch, himself the supreme legislator, and the keeper of the roll, reclining there in the background? Do you see his ministers, counsellors and executive officers all standing around him, and all dripping with blood, and do you recoil from the picture? Do you ask whether honor or any other word of two syllables can

legalize deliberate and savage murder? Put your finger upon your lips. Be as silent as the grave, lest you rouse some honorable avenger to write out a copy of the law in your own blood. And is it not possible after all, that there may be some latent virtue in this law of honor, which vulgar minds cannot appreciate? Some charm in the words, to dry up tears and heal broken hearts?

Take it, ye who have murdered the only son of his widowed mother, to keep your honor spotless-take your bloody code and read it to her in her distraction. Show her the euphonious title, and tell her how promptly her blooming boy accepted the challenge, and how bravely he met his fate; and remind her what reason she has to be proud of having given to the world such a noble spirited son. Will it assuage her grief? Will it restore him to her fond embrace? Will it re-nerve that manly arm, on which she was to have leaned in the decline of life?

Go next, and offer your sanguinary code as a solace to hearts which you have just crushed, by murdering a husband, and a father, and sending him unprepared to his last account. Relate the story of the constructive insult. of the challenge, of the acceptance, and of all the preliminary arrangements. Tell the young mother, the confiding wife, in her desolation, what a fine rifle he had; how cheerfully he went out; how promptly he took his station; how not a muscle quivered, when he stood up to give and receive the fire; how nobly he fell, and how peacefully he sleeps in the bed of honor! Make out a fair copy of your law on crimson satin, and present it to those children, to be hung up in a gilt frame by the side of their father's portrait, and enjoin their mother to teach it to them every Sabbath day, along with the ten commandments, that their little hearts may be fired with a noble and honorable emulation! What refined cruelty! What more than savage mockery! And yet, such condolence would be in perfect keeping with the tenor and spirit of that law, under which duelists feloniously live and fight and die.